


Static palms melt your vibes

by Sybariticfanfiction (SybariticReyna)



Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: How to tag smut, If I continue this, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Unresolved Sexual Tension, as if I can write anything other than fluff, this is super fluffy smut tho, when will god stop my sinful hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6533785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SybariticReyna/pseuds/Sybariticfanfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are so gonna tap that</p>
            </blockquote>





	Static palms melt your vibes

"Hey, War." You say, watching the Horsemen sharpen ChaosEater for what feels like the millionth time. He's in one of the much too big chairs that the Horsemen seems to favor while you're curled up in a pile of blankets that you've accumulated on the floor. Despite the fire they keep lit nearly round the clock, cold tends to creep in their chosen home. Damn Horseman and their... Thermal resistance.

"War." You repeat when he doesn't react. " _War._ Darling. Sweetheart. Love of my life."

He snorts incredulously, glancing over at you without tilting his head. "Yes?"

"Come here." You request, making a vague motion.

He hesitates, eyes narrowing as he considers his options. _Sword, or super cute human?_ You imagine him thinking with a snicker. _As if_.

Finally he sets ChaosEater off to the side and joins you in the mountain of blankets. You press close as possible as soon as you're able, half out of affection and half because he's so _warm_.

He chuckles as you do so and takes both your icy hands in his. "I am a Horseman, not a heater." He says, although the words lack any of the bite you typically associate with War. You know that's just because you're "his human", and you take no small amount of pride in it.

"You can be both." You hum, burying you face in the crook of his neck.

You don't have to see his face to know he's smiling now, because you can hear it when he agrees, "I suppose."

The two of you fall silent for an immeasurable amount of time, your thoughts mostly focused on War and how very warm he is. You'd like to think even in nephilim standards he's warm, although you haven't really gotten close enough to any of his siblings to confirm that. They're still getting used to you, despite all of them (rather awkwardly in Death's case) expressing gratitude for helping their little brother when they could not.

You understand their hesitance to befriend the weird and unprecedentedly otherworldly human, but it still stings a bit. Thank goodness you've got more or less all the time in the world while the humans work on repairing what was lost. Only a few have been reborn so far, so it'll be a slow recovery. You don't really care either way. It's not _your_ Earth or the humanity you know.

You do sometimes wonder if there's another you, one born in this universe. If there is, you pity them, because they won't ever know the contentedness of being with War. You wouldn't go as far as to say _soul mates_ or something equally dramatic, but there is a certain _rightness_ in this situation.

You lean back to look at said Horseman, smiling. "Guess what?"

His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, but he does humor you with a short, "What?"

"I love you."

It's nothing he hasn't heard before, but he appears just as startled as the first time. Eyes wide, he opens his mouth only to remain silent. Like he just can't comprehend someone declaring their love for him or something.

It's equal parts cute and heartbreaking, in your opinion.

You would love to see his face if he knew about the fandom. Poor thing might just short circuit.

"What're you thinking?" You finally ask, unable to keep the laughter out of your voice.

He hesitates, one hand moving to cup your cheek. "Can I kiss you?"

You have to bite down on your lip to keep from laughing this time, "Of course! You don't need to ask, you kno--"

He cuts you off mid-word, lips pressing against yours with bruising force. Now _there's_ the War you know. You respond much more carefully but no less passionate, tangling your fingers in his hair. _Fuck_ , do you love his hair. You should ask him if you can braid it or something later.

After he's finished kissing you senseless, of course. It's good to have priorities.

And a Horseman who seems _awfully_ pleased with himself when you arch into him, shuddering as his claws drag up your side. "War." You whine against his lips. You hate when he does that. It feels fucking _awesome,_ of course, and its completely unfair. War is usually pretty careful using that particular tactic though, knowing how easily he could break skin.

He breaks your kiss to laugh, a smug grin now decorating his slightly colored lips.

"You're the worst," You hiss.

This just makes him even prouder, "You seem to be enjoying yourself."

Two can play that game, you think. "Not nearly as much as I _should be_ , Horseman." You challenge.

Much to your amusement, War's eyes go wide in shock. He recovers pretty damn quick though, and you find yourself flipped onto your back, War already kissing his way down your neck. _Fuck._ "Better?" He taunts.

_Well, okay then._

"Ye-- ah. Yeah." You try to shift up into to him, to grind or find some semblance of friction, nearly growling when you realize he's purposely not allowing you to do so. "War." You say, much more breathless than scolding.

He hums against your collarbone, and _dammit, is that nice._

"War!" You demand, tugging at a lock of hair. "War, lemme kiss you."

He's much more gentle this time around, while you're the one trying to get as close as possible, clutching his collar and doing your damnedest to press yourself against him.

You resort to plan B when that doesn't pan out, pulling back just far enough to tilt his head back so you can leave open mouthed kisses down his neck. Your last mark has already faded unfortunately, so you find a nice spot and bite.

Unlike yourself, War is surprisingly vocal in 'bed', rewarding you with a low moan as you press an apologetic kiss to the light mark. It takes a few more suck/bite/kiss combos to actually make it a nice purple color, throughout which War's fingers dig into you hips in appreciation. You are more than happy to put in extra work, if only for the chance to see War looking so enraptured above you.

Not to mention how fucking _great_ he looks with that hickey. _Your_ hickey.

"God, you're attractive." You laugh, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair.

He smiles and you're pretty sure your heart just stops.

"Don't make that cute fricken face!" You demand, mock accusingly.

Your less than harsh words are met with messy kisses (and you take no small amount of pleasure in knowing you're what got War so worked up), but the two of you both end up laughing too hard to maintain contact.

"I am not cute." War says at the same time you say, "Stop laughing at me."

War snorts, while you dramatically throw your arm over your eyes and declare, "I can't believe my nephilim boyfriend is such a cutie pie."

"I can't believe my human datemate continues calling War cute." He responds, very carefully removing your arm so he can look at you properly.

You return the favor with a proud grin, eyes flickering between his brand new mark and his smile. It takes you a second to find you words, but finally you manage, "I'll admit you're not cute if you kiss me again."

War is more than happy to do so, all hot and urgent and _goddamn_ , if you weren't laying down your knees would definitely be giving out on you. Your grip on his shirt however, does not waver in the slightest as you try to yank him against yourself and deepen the kiss.

You only pull away when you run out of breath, panting as he returns to kissing his way down your throat. He stops at the edge of your shirt, lips pulling into a frown when the thick (and now unbearably hot) fabric doesn't stretch. You're both acutely aware if he tries too much it'll just rip, and goodness knows the others will never let you live that down. 

You immediately begin toying with edges, asking quietly, "Can I?"

War blinks, all traces of a frown disappearing as he processes your words. " _Yes._ "

Your shirt is off in record time, and War's mouth is pressed against the newly revealed skin even quicker. _Oh god_.

He keeps your squirming to a minimum with his right hand, his left idly returning to the curve of your hip. "Good?" He murmurs. You know that's just War-code for 'are you okay to continue?'

"Yes. Fuck, War, _War, please._ " You practically beg, both your hands digging into his shoulders to keep him close. Logically, he could pull away at any time, but you know he _won't_. Not unless one of you gets uncomfortable.

Or one of his siblings comes home early.

That particular thought feels like a bucket of ice water, but War is quick to remedy that.

You feel rather than hear his laughter, hot breath against your sternum. "Please?"

"Please." You repeat, straining against his hand. "Please, please, please, take me to your room."

War pauses mid-kiss, eyes flickering up. At first you think it's just to gauge your expression, but as his lips tilt into a self-satisfied smirk, you realize he's admiring his handiwork. "Of course."

He scoops you up before you can think of a snappy retort, his arms slipping around your waist as he pulls the both of you up with little difficulty. Despite knowing he'd never drop you, you wrap your arms and legs around him too. (It would be a complete lie if you claimed to not notice how such a hold presses your bodies together, but you can pretend.)

You don't even try to pretend you're not eagerly trying to kiss him again as soon as he sits down though, this time in his bed. Regrettably, you have to get up on your knees (and off his lap) to do so, because he's tall but its well worth the effort when his mouth opens up to you.

You lock your arms around his neck, both to give yourself some sense of control and also to make sure you won't melt into the mattress. War's own hands begin mapping your upper half, one hand tracing every inch of available skin and the other scrapping up and down your side until you're _aching_.

Deciding this is much too unbalanced, you pull away and prompt, "I'm wearing much less than you are and frankly it seems unfair."

"You're always wearing less than I." He hums. It takes a moment to understand his overly literal observation.

You roll your eyes, "I mean, _technically_ , because you're like three of me, but I meant, like, numerically." Leave it to the two of you to start bickering mid... Make out session? Hopefully more? If War is okay with that, of course. Goodness knows you've been down for _months_ (not that there's anything good about what you want to do to him).

He leans back to pull off his shirt, voice muffled by the fabric as he repeats, "Three?"

"Okay, Horseman, that's enough commenting on--" You wanted to finish with 'my completely average human size' but your thought process stops as War throws his shirt across the room and pulls you back into a kiss.

One that you almost instantly pull away from, much to your Horseman's displeasure. You wordlessly begin tracing his abs, shamelessly admiring him. His scars are all long healed, all shiny and pale. You knew, of course, he'd be fucking shredded, but damn is he even more impressive without superficial coverings.

You very abruptly realize you want, _need_ to kiss every single inch of him, need to make him _tremble_ and hear him come undone and--

You find yourself nearly drooling at the prospect of marking him up.

"How many hickeys am I allowed to give you?" You ask, surprising even yourself with the evenness in your tone.

War groans as you press a kiss to his clavicle, fingers digging into your waist. "As many as you'd like, but I will repay you in spades." He all but growls, his voice even lower than usual.

Oh.

You smile. "I'll keep you to that."

He laughs, although its significantly more breathless. You barely stop to wonder whether or not Horsemen actually need to breathe, simply enjoying the sound. You did that.

You take your time moving down his chest, leaving random hickeys in your wake. Granted, they're much smaller than the one gracing his neck, but you smugly note it'll take him at least a few days to heal. If he doesn't use magic, which you doubt he will.

You're nearly to his ribcage when you lower yourself enough to get back to his lap, although this time there is a _very noticeable difference_. One that you grind down on nearly instinctively, only to be rendered completely speechless.

You're convinced there is nothing better than War moaning your name.

"Good?" You ask as soon as you remember how to use words, half teasing and half honestly worried. His grip on your hips is teetering on the edge of being painful, and you've never gotten such a dramatic reaction out of him before.

There's not a hint of hesitation when he answers, "Very."

_Fuck_. You shudder, torn between moving up to kiss him again and rolling your hips.

You opt for the second after a moment of debate, relishing in the friction and War's wide eyed expression. Biting down on your lip does nothing to stop your wide grin, but you figure it's the thought that counts. 

War's lips tilt up to mirror your own grin, "Are you good?"

"I am so good right now," You laugh, your hands moving to cover his. "Like really fucking good." You punctuate your words with another leisurely grind.

You're neither annoyed nor surprised when War begins guiding your hips, allowing him to take over while you lazily return to tracing every line of his chest with your mouth. Doing so is now much harder (no pun intended) though, and eventually you end up simply clinging to him and murmuring nonsense encouragement that only gets louder when he finds an angle that sends you reeling.

He himself isn't exactly _quiet_ , but he seems to be making an effort to focus on you. _He must be so proud of himself_ , you think amusedly. Not that you're any better, but still.

You have to stop him when you get close though, whining even as you squeeze his hands and say, "War, stop, I'm so close, I don't wanna--" god, is it a challenge to concentrate when all you want to do is literally underneath you and every fiber of your being is _so ready_.

War slows down (and you nearly cry out in frustration). "Why not?" He sounds honestly confused.

" _Because_ ," You can't manage much else, your resolve already dissolving when you glance up at him. "I want you." You try again, trying to make him understand.

His smile is the most smug thing you've seen in your entire life. "Then come for me."

**Author's Note:**

> ;3c 
> 
> ((title is from LA Devotee))


End file.
